something like magic
by onecupoftae
Summary: These are the spells they cast—on themselves, on the audience, on anyone who is willing to believe. — Jungkook. OT7.


**summary:** These are the spells they cast—on themselves, on the audience, on anyone who is willing to believe. —Jungkook. OT7.

 **a/n:** i'm going back to my roots and writing a canon-compliant story whoo. i know i've been absent for a while but I have _lots_ of wips for bts in the works. and a special announcement to make in the coming months!

* * *

Something Like Magic

* * *

Sometimes, Jungkook thinks his bandmates are made of magic.

He can see the sparks of something surreal in their laughter, a group of children created from the very particles that make up the core of the world. A collection of souls that are whole individually but only really complete when they're together.

It manifests in different ways: how they start their mornings at 5AM or earlier, how they trudge out of bed into another long day of dance practices and vocal training, how they complain complain complain and yet—they would all choose to do it over again, in a heartbeat, if it meant they could share just a little more of themselves with the universe. Jungkook thinks that there has to be some kind of magic involved in this, somewhere, surely.

Because their voices bleed as constellations among the stars, the ley-lines beneath their feet all connecting together to make something they can wholeheartedly call _music_. Something they can call _ours._

In a small corner of the world, the capital of South Korea, Jungkook watches as long spans of wings sprout on each of their backs, unfurling as they step onto the stage of their newest concert hall. When they stand in front of their audience, he can feel them taking flight all at once, a flock of seven under one spotlight.

And once the performance begins, he looks at the other members one by one, breathes, hears—a reminder:

Jimin's voice is like a siren's, captivating in a way that steals his attention no matter what he's doing at the moment. It's painfully honest and lullaby-soft and Jungkook thinks that he wouldn't mind falling into Jimin's trap if he could continue to hear him sing for the rest of his lifetime.

Yoongi's fingers paint melodies in the air, clear enough to see, when his hands rest at home on the black and white keys of the piano. There are stories hidden between the ledger lines of his music notes and Jungkook breathes it in like the mystic air of fairy tales.

Taehyung sings with his soul on his tongue. He gives the lyrics meaning, each word burning as they leave his mouth, but the fire that ignites isn't dangerous or consuming—it's passionate. Jungkook looks at the flames that skirt around the room and only wants to chase it, knowing that it's not something that would harm him.

Namjoon breathes in secrets that translate into hard, solid truths somewhere between the spaces inside his lungs and the microphone in his hands. He makes even the most complex things tangible and when Jungkook truly listens, he finds comfort in the familiarity of a voice he trusts.

Hoseok dances the same way he does anything: with flowers growing on the soles of his feet and the sun beaming through the roof of his mouth. In his movements, Jungkook recognizes daybreak, the curtains of the stage parting like clouds for Hoseok to step forward.

Seokjin's words are soft, kind, warm; confident enough to inspire others and reliable like the waves of the sea. They're an invitation for the mundane to embrace the magic in the world and Jungkook clings onto them because this is one adventure he wouldn't want to miss.

These are the spells they cast—on themselves, on the audience, on anyone who is willing to believe. But beyond the glitter and glam of their on-stage outfits, they are just seven boys who fell a little bit in love with their artform, and a little bit in love with each other.

.

.

.

Jungkook thinks that his bandmates are made of magic, but this feeling inside of them right now, the adrenaline pumping through their veins and the spark of something unknown— _this feeling—_

—is as human as it gets.

* * *

 **a/n:** i realized that i never linked my socials here before so you can follow me on tumblr and twitter (both chaasiu). my twitter is fairly new so there's not much on there yet but i'll always respond to messages and mentions!


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